Het leven zoals het is…

Poppies?… Poppie?… Poem…

Life can be a little difficult! Really! My name is Kita, but very often my mum calls me Poppie. In Dutch that means: little doll!!! Don’t you think that’s confusing? My dad, he calls me Bobbie! More confusing names… Anyway, I know it now: Kita = Poppie = Bobbie!

Few days ago, we walk to the dog park. Suddenly my mum says: look, Kita, there are poppies! Me? I look around to see other Kitas. No dogs, no Kitas!! I bark to get my mums attention who says again: poppies, look, Poppie, poppies!My goodness! Something is wrong with my mum, really wrong. 😦 I bark again: wafwaf! Look here! Only one Kita, mum! Only one Poppie!

No Poppie, look here: the flowers! Those are poppies!

Jesus! She’s getting crazy! I see no litlle dolls! What was she saying? Should listen better! Flowers??? Flowers? She means this red flowers have my name? They are all Kitas? That’s nice! Think I should greet them! 🙂

Mum says there’s a very sad, old and well known poem about poppies… written in World War I… Mum, will you put the poem with the story?

In Flanders fields (luitenant-kolonel John McCrae, 1872-1918)

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.